Wednesday, July 4, 2018

Happy Birthday America...

I
never met either of my paternal grandparents. Both were long deceased by the
time I came along. But I do know that they were both immigrants to this
wonderful country. My grandfather Joseph, lied about his age and stowed away
aboard a freighter and wound up outside of Philadelphia. My grandmother and her
family all came here together and wound up in South Philly. My mom's father was
born on the boat on the way here from the Ukraine. My mom's mother was the only
one of my grandparents born on US soil, but even that only by a year or two.
Her parents emigrated from England and Holland not many years before she was
born.

My
maternal grandfather was a SeaBee in WWII in the Pacific Theater. I have a
picture of him as a very young man, posing with to fellow sailors in New Guinea
around 1942.

Maybe
that's where I get it from...my love for this country. My heritage is found in
countries not nearly as wonderful or blessed as this one. Not that those
nations aren't wonderful themselves...but they aren't America. I've heard the
stories -some first hand and some second hand-- about the hardships they faced
and how much this country meant to them. Among my grandparents, on either side,
there was not a handout to be found. Not a government gift or a social program
freebie. They came with nothing, they worked hard, and they became parents,
business people and homeowners. They weren't perfect, by any means. They were
rough, somewhat uneducated because of their standing in society, maybe rough
around the edges. They were also hard working, people of Faith, good neighbors,
good citizens, good people.

And
they were AMERICANS.

From
what I understand, my grandfather didn't bother teaching Italian to his
children. Because they were "Medicones." Not that they didn't pick it
up along the way, but his first command to them was that they were Americans
and would behave like Americans.

They
were proud of who they had been, but far more proud of who they were.
Americans.

I've
always been a history buff and always an unabashed Yankee Doodle Dandy. But as
I've gotten older, and more worn by the years, (and hopefully wiser) I am even
more so. I didn't know about my Italian heritage until I was 21 and didn't meet
my family until 2007 at age 43. There was a period, when that was new and exciting,
where I was self-hyphenating. I was Italian American or American Italian,
depending on how you divvy up the whole percentages thing. But in the last
eight or ten years I stopped doing that. I am fiercely proud of my Italian
heritage and especially of my family and our story. The longer I've known my
cousins and siblings the more I've grown to really love them, and I hope they
feel that way about me. I'm LUCKY to be a Daliessio.

But
I'm far luckier still -blessed by God in fact-- to be an American. My heritage
on either side takes a backseat to my citizenship and birthright as an
American.

As
years pass I've grown more and more sentimental, more unashamedly patriotic,
more fiercely loyal and protective of this land of mine. There are place in
this world I want to visit...but none as much as the wonderful places inside
our own borders. I want to go to my grandfather's hometown of Montecassino
someday. But probably not until I have seen more of OUR mountains. Or met more
of my fellow Americans. Instead of backpacking across Europe, I dream of
traveling this country, without a roadmap or an itinerary, and just see what is
out there.

If
it were possible, I would find the center of this great land...the place where
her heart is...and fall on that sacred ground and pull her to my chest. I love
her that much. She has given me and my family everything...by giving us nothing
more than a chance. 242 years ago, 56 great men closed out this day by signing
a document that got this all rolling. Their signatures almost invariably
guaranteed their own personal ruin. Less than a third of them would survive the
Revolution with their fortunes, or their lives, intact. But that was a
sacrifice they were willing to make for the sake of the promise that this new
country held. If The United States of America could take root. If she could
survive. Then the promise of her founding would be there for the children and
grandchildren of these noble men, and that was enough for them to risk it all.

I
just can't look at a sacrifice like that and simply go on about my day. I owe
them. I owe them diligence and vigilance. I owe them my best, to keep this
nation always functioning at IT'S best. I owe them my best efforts at being a
great AMERICAN citizen, a great neighbor, a great friend, and a great patriot.